Hannibal Lecter's Ledger
by nyxthom
Summary: A few bits and pieces from the good Doctor's ledger, spanning across ALL of the movies in chronological order starting with Hannibal Rising and finishing with Hannibal. Best served with a rate or review, but can be served simply to enjoy. M just in case.
1. The train to Calais

**A/N:** I'm going to annoy by asking for honest reviews, please. Please note I own nothing. The first few chapters will be set in the Hannibal Rising timeline, and later on will progress into the other movies. Also, the breaks in the chapters are there to seperate the pages/entries.

* * *

The train to Calais is not long, yet, to pass the time, I find myself writing memoirs, thoughts ideas....like a teenage girl with a diary. I can't help but smile now, 'Anne Frank' has just popped into my head. A horrible 'joke' but I couldn't care, this is my private journal.

I digress.

The train is about to leave. Finally. However, while the other passengers are sitting, chatting, reading the paper; getting on with their lives, I am writing in this old ledger my father once used. There are actually a few pages at the beginning that he has written in. It's oddly comforting.

It's mostly 'big' events, births; deaths; parties; the war. It doesn't appear to be written for anyone in particular.

I'm following the example.

Really; he wrote to relieve stress and emotions he didn't understand or want to share.

Again, I digress.

Really? I wanted to use this to record my travels. What I'm doing, though with my experiences in France, with Popil and Lady Murasaki, I realise that subtlety truly is key.

Hm. Lady Murasaki. Truly the only person I know I will be in continual conflict with myself as to whether or not I will miss her. I understand that there probably will be a culture shock, so I will obviously miss France. However, I am young; there will always be an opportunity to return.

Regardless, back to Lady Murasaki.

I truly meant it when I told her I loved her.

Her reply was nothing short of heart-wrenching.

I suppose that actually witnessing my...'accepting' of an apology is too much compared to just knowing about it and helping me with a cover.

Or dealing with the 'head' of a problem.

Strange that my thoughts now drift to the Inspector. Dear Inspector Popil, I wonder how he's coping? Maybe I'll find one of those soldiers we were talking about and send him a memento.

* * *

Apologies. The train only went half way, I had to switch trains. Calais is only an hour and a half away from Paris, and yet the transport system is nothing short of abysmal.

I'm hiring a car as soon as I set foot in Canada.

I believe I was pondering the notion of sending a present back to Inspector Popil. Probably not the smartest move, but I'm sure I can work something out.

Inspector Popil asked me who would punish the men who ate Mischa had I also been eaten. Honestly? I don't think anyone would. Simply because it would have gone forever an unknown event, what with no witnesses or 'unfinished' business. Though I do admire his dedication.

I do believe I will miss him, too.

I can't help but wonder; 'What would Mischa have done if it had been the other way around?'

What if I had been eaten?

Did I actually eat the food I was offered?

No. Of course not. Not willingly.

I'm amazed that I would even consider believing such tripe.

Still.

The screams I hear in my nightmares  
"'Annibal!"  
The almost real feeling of Grutas breaking my arm.  
Those monsters throwing me to the floor, singing as they crowd round her as she screams for me to help, like the pack of wolves they were.

I'm feeling slightly nauseous. I'm going to take a break.


	2. The hotel in London

**A/N:** I may have forgotten to mention; I'm putting all of the chapters I have written for this so far up at the same time.  
Bon apetit.

* * *

London.

What a beautiful city.

I'm still staying in a hotel just down the road from the airport. My flight for Canada takes off tomorrow afternoon.

I've managed to smuggle more of that drug I'd been using to remember what happened to Mischa. Never know when something like that will come in handy.

The rest of the train journey to Calais was spent trying not to kill some ignorant parent's unruly children.

I was tempted to feed them to some wild dogs.

The ferry to Dover; I spent mostly _hiding_ from the aforementioned children. They kept following me! At least until I used some 'charm' and convinced them to behave.

Still muttering that I would throw them overboard.

Perhaps I _**am **_a monster.  
My temper was once much longer. I was once more patient than I am now.

I'm getting rather tired. I'll continue this tomorrow on the flight. It has been a long day.

A long, relatively productive day.

Hannibal Lecter


	3. The hotel in Canada

I'm on the aeroplane right now. It's late evening and I'm sitting with quite a rude young woman.

Who's every so politely fallen asleep on my shoulder.

Her name is Helena, and she's being sent to an all girl's boarding school in America after visiting a Canadian friend.

She's spent the last hour and a half ranting at me as to how 'unfair' her parents are being about the whole issue.

"So I stayed with a boy in his bed and we're not married. It's the fifties! It isn't like we did anything!"

She has freckles on her cheeks.

I wonder if they add flavour....

* * *

Yet another hotel. Dear , 'sweet' Helena has accepted my invitation for a drink.

We're meeting in an hour; this should give me some time to consider whether or not to eat her.

What a strange question.

Surely something is amiss if I _am_ actually considering this? She's only a few years younger than I am-seventeen-and hasn't _really_ done anything wrong. She's just rude.

* * *

Perhaps 'rude' is not the only way I can describe, Helena.

There seems to be something 'wrong' with English girls. So forward. So rude. So vulgar.

She was practically ripping my clothes into the tiniest pieces of confetti.

I head out again tomorrow, I should go to bed.

Oh, and freckles _don't _add flavour. Much to my disappointment.

H


	4. Arrival in America

A truly wondrous day today has been.

I awoke to a bright, sunny day. Crisp snow, crackling underfoot and a lovely car awaiting me outside the hotel.

My car journey was also quite short and, even though Grentz's taxidermy shop was remote, I found it easily enough.

I should probably note that I am now in America, and currently awaiting visas and green papers.

What fun.

But they seem friendly and helpful enough. They even said that it would only take a few hours for my papers to be signed, and then a few months for it to be completely legalized.

Until then, I plan on joining a university. I could continue my studies....though I am becoming more and more interested in the fields of Psychology.

Freud has never _truly_ interested me, but his theories on early childhood experiences certainly have some truths to them. I'm definitely an example of that, am I not?

This has been quite fun, I will admit.

The journey hasn't been the most pleasant, but the 'New World' seems to have a lot of potential and *scribble*aiegrskghbnghihkjsghsgsgu-------gskdbgvskbg*scribble*

* * *

To continue;

It also has a large supply of ignorant bigots.  
This may be the 'New World' but it certainly has alot of the old mannerisms.

The mess on the previous page was caused by an 'All-American-Man' who decided he didn't like my accent when I told him that I didn't know what time it was.

I'm looking forward to this new life over here. Please note the overflowing sarcasm in that statement.

I've managed to find a university that's willing to accept me, as well as to give me somewhere to stay.  
I'm going to look through the prospectus now. Psychology is still quite high on my list of subjects to study.

H

* * *

**A/N: **Apologies for the random letters, I wasn't sure how I'd explain the messy writing caused by Hannibal being pushed. Hope you had fun.


	5. University

I've decided to continue my medical studies.

Psychology is something I will take up later, at the end of my studies.

At the moment I am in the foreign exchange dormitory, and will be here until my papers are completely legal.

My roommate is from Italy and he's quite the stereotype.

Not that I mind. Last night he forced me out into a bar.

I met a cute girl with an attitude problem. I took her to a questionably tasteful restaurant. She said she was stuffed. I had seconds.

* * *

Interpret this however or whichever way you will, but, I do believe the music here is an acquired taste. Yes, it's the 50's and we have discovered this new genre; 'rock and roll' but I miss my Bach and my Mozart and my Chopin.

I get the oddest looks from Franco.

Franco is the Italian who manages to find me the most delectable 'dates'.

* * *

I think I may be spiralling out of control.

Just a little. Not by much.

But the police have been asking me about the red head I took out for dinner. She's gone missing.

Ha. Missing.

But I directed them to the club we had gone to afterwards, told them we'd been separated.

Today's headline read; "Student Body Found; Chewed and Eaten". She'd been attacked by dogs on the way home.

I'll miss her. She wasn't one to back away from a fight if it was over her beliefs. We had the most interesting discussions that night.

You didn't think I _ate _her did you? Goodness, no.

I'm not that bad.

I just keep eyeing up people's legs and the areas of their lower back where their kidneys are.

H


End file.
